


glass petals

by saltypeachylil



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Akaashi Keiji, Boys in Skirts, Butt Plugs, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Time Skip, Top Bokuto Koutarou, boys in heels, the author wants you to know that even tho this is porn they are still very much grossly in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27789775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltypeachylil/pseuds/saltypeachylil
Summary: Koutarou loves this side of Keiji. This side only meant for him to see. The way this new skirt falls on the mattress and onto his tight stomach, creating an unexpected sort of friction.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 8
Kudos: 177
Collections: NSFW BokuAka Week 2020





	glass petals

The only thing giving him confidence was the clack of the heels against the hardwood floors of their shared apartment. Actually that was a lie. Akaashi loved everything about the outfit he was wearing. He loved the click of his heels yes, but he also loved how the bold red on his lips dried down to nothing but brought out the green of his eyes, those eyes framed by lengthened eyelashes covered in thick dark mascara.

He loved the way the black lace tied around his neck leaving his shoulders bare, came down over his chest leaving just enough skin bare to be pushed apart, the way the lace came back together at his navel, a present below to be unwrapped. 

He loved the way the skirt he wore was just too short, flipping up to show the roundness of his ass. Bokuto had given him an unlimited budget to treat himself for his birthday next week since he wouldn’t be able to make it day of to celebrate. The best presents were those to share with the ones you love. 

Most of all, Akaashi loved the raw power and sexiness from his outfit. Every moment he had spent in front of the mirror perfecting his eyeliner, blush and lipstick made him feel sexy. Every smoothed pleat of his skirt made him feel youthful and fun, unable to resist little twirls, the heels tap tapping on the wooden floor. The feel of sharp acrylic nails on his scalp made him want to give into his own temptations before Bokuto would come home but Akaashi could wait patiently. Akaashi would wait forever to leave artificial claw marks down Bokuto’s back and shoulders and thighs. He wanted to see his lipstick smeared over the five rings on his ribcage, the rings symbolizing his raw strength and pure athleticism that only Keiji Akaashi could tear down in an instant. 

Yes, Akaashi fantasizes, but he also builds up an anxious energy while in the waiting. Bokuto isn;t scheduled to be home for a few more hours, coming late from practice and trying out the new potential rookies. It’s a process he can’t say he misses too much, glad to have left his volleyball days after graduating as team captain in high school. He had some tough shoes to follow, becoming captain after Bokuto’s graduation. He smiles fondly at the memories of late night calls, venting about the stresses of new kouhai, overzealous second years, Karasuno’s golden duo at their second year of training camp, and the surprising loneliness not having extra setting practice with Bokuto every day. 

That first year apart, was really what had brought them closer to each other, their mutual slow burn agony for those watching from the outside but a beautiful, wholesome story for the two owlish lovers. But this get up was not about wholesome, slow and shy; no this outfit was for getting bent over and railed into oblivion. Akaashi clicked his heels in anticipation. With another forty-five minutes until Bokuto’s train was scheduled to arrive and all the chores completed (yes with the confidence booster and motivator of the heels clicking on the floor), he started setting the mood in the apartment. 

They had lived there together since Bokuto had signed on to the Black Jackals. Not quite a penthouse apartment, but still fairly spacious and large. A high rise building in Osaka that the newly “gone pro” athlete could afford that respected his and Keiji’s privacy not only in security but also in thick soundproof walls. Visiting Bokuto in college meant thin walled dorms, cheesy pop music to drown out the sounds of squeaky twin xl bed frames and cramped backs after crawling up metal ladders and crouching under low ceilings. Neither Akaashi nor Bokuto would have traded anything for their bad sex in college but they were glad to not be messing with any thing close to their college experience now in their late twenties. 

Pushing the thought of turning twenty-eight next week aside, he quickly gathered all the supplies for the night. He had gone to the store to stock up on lube along with the groceries but a package had come in the morning, part of the online shopping spree he had taken. The glass plug in his hands was surprisingly already at a pleasant temperature, the weight in his hands encouraging his excitement. Years of experience had taught him that playing with a new toy was best on his back, so he crawled into bed and started running his nails across his chest, gently scratching at his nipples pleased at how the acrylic created the sensation of someone else touching him. 

He continued to gently scratch down his chest, along the outer edges of his thighs, gently sweeping closer to the center. The ghosting feeling from the nails and the skirt fabric being pushed out of the way making his cock twitch in interest. He let his fingertips come back to his nipples gently twisting and pulling, rubbing his hands against the dark lace and letting his palms smooth and open under the fabric, then pulling his own hair while bucking his hips, mind on the memories that he and Bokuto have created in this very bed. Pressing his hands down on his own throat, a sigh while remembering all the times Bokuto has placed his hands there demanding either silence or a reverent pleading for  _ Koutarou. _

Akaashi slowly brings his fingers to his own cock alternating between gently wrapping his fingers around it’s shaft, dragging nails against it, and circling his thumb around the head and over the slit. He adds some lube to the palm of his hand beginning to pump releasing little huffs of impatience that Bokuto isn’t here to do it for him (he truly is spoiled). His legs spread, knees far apart as he gets lost in pleasuring himself but constant thought of Bokuto and the desire to be filled finally take his attention away from his cock and to the newly purchased glass rose plug. 

The glass tip kisses the puckered skin of his hole and the shiver that goes down Akaashi’s spine isn’t from the cold. He circles the glass tip against his hole, teasing himself by pulsing his finger against the hole as his hips desperately roll, instinctively seeking friction in the air before pouring some lube on his fingertips and pushing the toy in. The ring of muscles twitches and easily takes in the plug, benefits of the material and years of experience pour the right amount. He can’t help the rocking of his hips as the plug moves deeper inside of him. Each grind against the base seeking out his prostate until he finally reaches it and lets out a shaky gasp. 

With the plug fully inside of him, situated so that it grinds against his prostate if he moves just right while sitting on his knees against the mattress and cock hard poking the skirt fabric up, Keiji waits the last few minutes until Bokuto comes home, gently rocking back and forth. 

Finally,  _ finally,  _ the lock clicks out of place and he can hear Bokuto’s rustling, putting down his bag, taking off his shoes, the amount of love and light shining through the simple phrase “I’m home!” That alone distracts Akaashi from the increasingly strengthening rolls of his body against the balls of his feet. He takes the moment to unfurl his legs and toe on the heels again. He leaves the bedroom before realizing he doesn’t have a plan. 

Should he just walk into the living room and make a cheesy pose? Would his lover’s laugh encourage him to touch or would it accidentally cause some miscommunication if he were to think Keiji’s pose were genuine and serious. Should he come up from behind and start touching his lover? Would that create the visual impact he wants from the skirt and lace bodice? Or would the sound of the heels  _ Keiji loves the sound of the heels  _ reveal himself before the first touch? 

The moment he sees Bokuto milling about their kitchen, he decided to make a pot of tea, surprisingly the heels don’t distract his fiance’s rummaging through the cupboards but he does reach his hand out, either instinctively or by choice, Keiji is in love with either, he files the thought how choosing to love someone blurs those lines to use in a poem later and grabs the reaching hand, entangling their fingers.

“Welcome home, my love.” Golden eyes meet green, as they have done for years now, and yet the warmth and depth still catch both of them off guard, the same intensity reflected in both sets of eyes. A moment just for the two of them, soulmates are created and built through the passage of time and painstaking choices. Bokuto brings their woven hands to his lips, placing a kiss on the tops of Keiji’s fingers, lips filling that space between their ridges. 

Bokuto’s eyes burnt Keiji in a delicious way, drinking in the sight of the Akaashi. Akaashi himself with pupils blown wide open arching into every heated touch of Bokuto’s hands against his skin, tracing the patterns delicately sewn into the lace. Thick, large hands gripping into the supple flesh of Keiji’s ass, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly in surprise feelings the base of the plug all the while exchanging basic pleasantries and details about his day. 

As Bokuto’s fingers explored the rose petals carved in the glass, Keiji preened letting out breathy  _ ah’s _ at each tug and push. Heated kisses deepen and move from lips to necks to ears and chins and all of a sudden Bokuto’s arms are under Keiji’s thighs lifting, encouraging as Keiji wraps his legs around Bokuto’s waist, continuing pressing hot open mouth kisses against his neck. The heels get kicked off in the process, abandoned and unfortunately becoming an obstacle on the short walk back towards their bedroom. Their kisses stop just for a moment to laugh and then readjust Keiji in Bokuto’s arms. 

Keiji is not ashamed of the childish grabby hands he makes towards Bokuto as he’s flung only a little bit recklessly onto the mattress. Bokuto’s laugh is husky as he leans over, climbing on top of Keiji to continue their make out session. Keiji whines, spreading his legs, closing his eyes, giving into the sensations of being rubbed and kissed and massaged and loved. 

Bokuto’s hands once again find grip into the milky flesh of his thighs, or maybe not again, Keiji’s grip on reality slowly loosening and blurring the lines between his fantasies earlier today and what’s happening now. Above him, Akaashi can make out Bokuto’s words of praise. 

_ “Keiji, so beautiful, just for me.” _

_ “Mine. Mine and only mine.” _

Koutarou leaves bites and hickeys down Keiji’s stomach, on the way to his thighs, pushing the plug in and out. Each whine encourages Koutarou to suck and tease more and move to all the sensitive parts of his skin that have been mapped out over and over, his body fully memorized and belonging to Koutarou. One of Koutarou’s hands has found a home on Keiji’s cock, gripping tight, twisting and squeezing the pink tip, while the other fucks the glass plug in and out of him. 

Koutarou can’t look away from Keiji’s face scrunched up in pleasure, back arched off the mattress, toes curled only moments away from reaching orgasm. He brings himself to whisper against his lover’s ear,

“Is this how you want to come for me?”

“No. No. Kou, I need-” comes the broken sob as Koutarou twists the plug against his prostate. 

Koutarou loves this side of Keiji. This side only meant for him to see. He loves how Keiji’s eyes glaze over in total pleasure. He loves the pink sheen to Keiji’s cock, dripping wet. The way his hole puckers around the new glass plug, greedily sucking it in. The way this new skirt falls on the mattress and onto his tight stomach, creating an unexpected sort of friction. The curve of his ass with fresh bite marks that are sure to drive him crazy as he remembers them in the coming days. He loves Keiji, touching Keiji, kissing Keiji, claiming Keiji, making Keiji cry with want.

Koutarou loves the sound Keiji makes when the plug leaves his body, the high pitched whining at the loss and the sharp intake of breath when the loss is replaced by two of his fingers, stretching and curling with practiced ease. Loves the way Keiji’s legs tremble and shake, wrapped around his shoulders, the way his body surrenders to Koutarou’s every whim of desire. How the green in Keiji’s eyes are barely visible, pupils blown open in pleasure, tears clinging to long lashes streaking traces of his mascara down the sides of his face. 

Koutarou really should let Keiji use his credit card more often. 

Keiji cranes his head up, silently begging for a kiss as Koutarou adds a third finger, both men rock hard. 

“Shhh,” Koutarou reassures Keiji, gently wiping the tears off his face and giving into this partner’s desires for soft, loving kisses, a direct juxtaposition to the lewd actions of his other hand. Keiji hums in appreciation, hands bringing their bodies closer, long sharp nails leaving red loving trails down Koutarou’s back. 

They both groan when Koutarou finally pushes into Keiji. Keiji satisfied with the feeling of being filled and the warmth in his chest, pulling Koutarou closer, wanting to become one body. Under any other circumstances he would scoff at the overused sentiment, but the words repeat ceaseless chants of incomprehensible prayer. 

_ Please. More. Closer. Need. Kou. Love you. Please. Please. Please. _

Koutarou’s body moves in response. Each thrust deep and powerful, full of might and strength, the perfect summation of his olympic body able to tear him in half if he so desired but using it to bring Keiji to his peak. His legs grip Koutarou’s waist, Koutarou forcing Keiji’s body up, skirt still on flapping fabric bouncing up and down with Keiji, now sitting upright on Koutarou’s lap. Keiji rests his forehead on Koutarou’s shoulder, twisting to mouth at the bruises his suckling left earlier. He’s so close, he doesn’t want to breathe but rather just let the sheer force of the coming orgasm carry his soul to the heavens.  _ What a ridiculous thought,  _ says the one last shred of sanity in his head before slipping away for the night. 

Koutarou doesn’t know how much longer he’s going to last with all of Keiji’s gasps, whines, and moans for more. He’s driving his hips forward with reckless abandon, quickly losing the rhythm he initially started with but at the way Keiji’s legs tremble around him, pulling him closer, he doesn’t think that’ll be a problem for much longer. He pulls Keiji as close to him as possible, tucking Keiji’s head against his neck, threading a hand through his dark curls and bringing the other back to his cock, still thick and hot, begging for relief. The sudden attention causes Keiji to gasp, begging for more contact until he finally reaches his peak and cum splatters both of their chests, droplets clinging to the holes in Keiji’s lace lingerie. Hopefully it will come out in the wash, he would like to see his fiance wear it again.

Keiji’s body goes limp in his hold, but Koutarou keeps his grip, hips stuttering to a finish as Keiji continues to whisper words of praise and affection for him. Koutarou’s orgasm is silent and open mouthed, his eyes flutter and body clenches, muscles spasming in satisfaction. Coming down from this high, he slides out of Keiji, gently putting his blissed out body down and cuddling into him. His hands rub gentle circles in his skin, removing the soiled lace and skirt. He makes it a mission to find every spot he gripped his lover too hard and apologize with gentle kisses and loving reassurances. He places a kiss on Keiji’s forehead and leaves to get a washcloth to clean off all the sticky fluids.

Keiji wakes up in the morning, body warm and pressed against his lover. Opening his eyes he sees a bottle of water and a sticky note with the words “Love you!” and two doodled owls. He can’t wait to marry this man. 

  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come say hi on [ twitter](https://twitter.com/saltypeachylil)
> 
> Big thanks to [ Nia ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niawho/works) for beta reading mwah mwah


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